


Trophy

by Houseofhaleth



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elendil - Freeform, Gen, Last Alliance of Elves and Men, Sauron - Freeform, Second Age, The One Ring - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 10:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Houseofhaleth/pseuds/Houseofhaleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sauron is defeated. Still struggling with the loss of Gil-galad, Elrond is alarmed to discover Isildur means to keep a trophy as proof of their defeat of Sauron. They don't know what the Ring can do...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trophy

Elendil’s tent had seen better days – many of them. Once, it had been the sails of the ship that had brought him east from Númenor – strong Numenorean cloth. But it was worn, grey with soot, patched and sagging after the long campaign in Mordor.

It was also empty of Elendil. Elrond had pushed the flap aside many, many times, but he would never again see Elendil pacing, or frowning at correspondence – or once, asleep at his desk.

Isildur was at the desk, and he started in a way which suggested he’d been staring into space. It was strange enough that he was here and his father wasn’t. Elrond couldn’t remember seeing him wearing civilian clothes before, and he looked much smaller without his armour. But it was the other thing he wore that made ice clench around Elrond’s stomach. The thing he let go of as Elrond came in, trying to surreptitiously nudge it beneath his simple blue shirt.

‘Lord Elrond. Wasn’t expecting you. What can I do for you?’ he stood, abruptly.

‘I’m sorry, Isildur. I don’t wish to disturb you-’

Isildur was shaking his head. ‘No. I’d appreciate the distraction. Had no idea _withdrawing_ from the field would be such a logistical mess. Still got to think about supply lines, and whether the way back is clear – have you spoken to Thranduil?’

‘No,’ said Elrond. ‘I believe he won’t see anyone yet. You aren’t ready to move yet, are you? I should think your people…’ he trailed off. Perhaps it was different for humans, but he didn’t think he was that ignorant of them. They had barely had two days to absorb the fact that Sauron was defeated – and Elendil was dead. There was no way they’d be ready to move out yet. In fact, Elrond was mildly surprised to find Isildur awake.

But he had to check. Because he hadn’t been able to sleep very well, himself.

‘Nowhere near ready, no,’ said Isildur. ‘Got to get some scouting parties to sweep up and down the road again, I don’t like these reports of orc units escaping west.’

‘All this will be dealt with,’ Elrond promised. ‘We will send scouts too, of course, when the time’s right.’ At the moment, they were just coming to terms with the loss of their King. As were Isildur’s people.

Isildur himself was as well – probably why he was throwing himself into whatever work he could find. Elrond could relate. He knew he was trying not to think about Gil-galad. Because it wasn’t over yet, and he couldn’t afford to. He had to sort this out with Isildur first, before he let himself realise…

He and Isildur were reacting very similarly, in fact.

‘You’ve decided to wear it as a trophy, then,’ he said.

Isildur’s hand closed around the shape beneath his shirt. ‘Yes. I thought…’ he frowned slightly, as if trying to remember what he thought. ‘Well, I thought it was appropriate. We earned it.’

‘We certainly fought hard for our victory. But I don’t see the need for a trophy, myself.’

Isildur looked past Elrond’s shoulder, eyes distant. ‘No? I still remember people whispering he was unstoppable…when my grandfather was gone, and Mairon had hired our own people to come for us, dragging us off to the fire in the temple. So many had been taken, and we didn’t know…’ his fist was clenched around the ring. ‘My people need a symbol that he is _not_ unstoppable. He’s gone, and now finally we can rebuild.’

‘You can,’ said Elrond. ‘You’re right. He’s gone. I…didn’t live in close quarters with him, but we’ve fought him a long time. Of course you need a symbol.’ How to put this… ‘Perhaps his armour. Or his mace.’

‘This is a clearer symbol of his power,’ said Isildur, shaking his head. ‘He wreaked much harm with this ring, but now it’s mine. And, it’s free from his stain,’ he added.

‘Isildur…’ Elrond couldn’t take his eyes off his clenching and unclenching fist. ‘I’m not certain it is.’

Isildur frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I know he’s dead, but…a _lot_ of his power was poured into this ring. We don’t know what…there’s never been anything quite like it in the world.’

‘I’m sure of that,’ said Isildur.

‘No, I…Isildur, what I mean is, I’m concerned that you’re wearing it – the vessel filled with so much of Sauron’s power – around your _neck.’_

Isildur looked annoyed, and a little uncomfortable. Then finally he forced a smile.

‘I appreciate your concern. But without him – it’s nothing. A band of metal. Although you’re right – it does have value – the inspiration to our people, that evil can be overcome.’

‘It was forged in betrayal and lies, and-’

‘I know,’ said Isildur. ‘At least, I know as much as you do. As you say, it was forged in secret. We don’t know about power and malice and all that – it’s a guess, it’s rumours from captured enemies. He was named Sauron the Deceiver, and rightly so – we can’t know anything about the ring.’

‘Precisely! All the more reason we should…’

‘We should what? If you’d prefer I keep it away from me in case it starts to burn or something…’ said Isildur, dryly.

‘We can destroy it. Here in the same fires it was made. Rings of power aren’t easily-’

‘No! You’re being ridiculous, what do you think it’s going to do? Stab us in the night? It’s a _ring.’_ Isildur held it up, annoyed. ‘Golden, shiny, elegant, _harmless,_ but important. Important to me, and to my people. I’ll not let it go because you’re afraid of the Deceiver’s memory – he’s dead, he’s dead _we killed him!’_

Silence fell. Elrond could feel his pulse hammering, but he didn’t say anything. Isildur blinked, and took a deep breath.

Watching him calm himself, running hands through his dark hair, Elrond tried not to think of Elros. Of all of them, Isildur in particular resembled his brother – fearless, determined, and now he was a new King with no father.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Isildur. ‘But Elrond…I won’t destroy it. That’s my final word, and my first decision as King. It gives us hope, and thus it’s far too precious to discard.’

The foreboding was an almost tangible weight. Elrond couldn’t believe the ring was a harmless symbol. How could he let the man wear it? He met Isildur’s eyes and knew that any kind of order to the contrary would be useless.

If Elendil were here, he’d listen. If Gil-galad were here, perhaps they could persuade him. If Gil-galad were here, perhaps Elrond would have the strength to convince him alone, but Gil-galad was lost.

They could try and force the ring from him, but…he couldn’t bring himself to do that to Isildur, to undermine him, to risk injuring him, to lose his respect forever. Even if someone else could – attacking the new King? It would mean the severing of the Last Alliance forever. There would be hatred between their people for thousands of years. The descendants of Elros would curse his name. And worse, a lot worse.

Maybe he could make himself believe the ring was harmless. It might even be, with Sauron gone.

‘Elrond…we have much to talk about, but I think…I think not now,’ said Isildur, awkwardly. ‘I think we both need rest. As much as we’re both putting it off.’

He wasn’t stupid. Elrond avoided his eyes.

‘We will speak of this later, then.’

‘My mind won’t have changed. But if it comforts you, then yes, we’ll speak later. We both have things to…’ Isildur ran a hand through his hair again. ‘When we’ve had some time.’

No time could bring back Gil-galad. This was up to Elrond. And he didn’t know if he could ever make himself force the matter.

‘Yes. That is wise.’ He took a breath. ‘You will be a good king, Isildur.’

‘Not yet,’ said the man, not looking at him. ‘Don’t tell me that yet. Still half waiting for my father to walk in.’ He gave a twisted smile.

‘I know,’ Elrond managed. He had to leave Isildur to his grief. And face his own.

As he left, he was just able to convince himself that it was the loss of his King and friend which weighed so heavily on him – and not his gift of foresight dreading the golden ring.

**Author's Note:**

> Although he didn’t destroy the ring at the time, in the Disaster of the Gladden Fields (the Unfinished Tales), Isildur is taking the One Ring to Rivendell, and he says he intends to hand it over to Elrond. He’s ambushed by orcs, fights desperately, but is killed and the ring is lost in the river.


End file.
